In the Basement, In the Sky

Nineteen/The End

The next day is Sunday, and though Ronan always has to work both days of the weekend, being in retail, Angie takes you out shopping for some work acceptable clothes and some inserts for your boots so you don't hurt your feet too much. She keeps piling things in the cart, which she's left you to push, and you assume most of it is for Ronan for whatever reason, until you both get back to the apartment and she unwraps a fold-in storage cube and drops all the neatly folded shirts and jeans inside. She pushes it up beside the couch, your unofficial bedroom, and you look up at her and say, almost breathlessly,

"Wait, what? I thought these were for Ronan?"

Angie smiles and draws you into a quick hug.

"You need more than one work shirt, silly, and you have to have things to wear on days off and laundry day, too."

She and Ronan are working very hard to make you cry this weekend.

It surprises you, but you settle into work pretty easily. It's been so long since you've had a job, had any kind of purpose, and this is so much more important than the meaningless busywork you always did in retail. You're taking care of other people's pets, and that matters.

Casey even agrees to give you Thursdays off, for appointments. Sure, you'll have to reschedule both your therapy and psych visits, but both of them are in on Thursdays, so you don't have to bother with asking for days off all the time.

Of course, that does mean you have to push them both off. Psych for one week, therapy for two. Your insurance won't cover two visits on the same day for some bullshit reason. Because fuck you, you guess.

Casey's Pawsome Doggie Daycare doesn't have a ton of customers at first, but it has its regular dogs, and you get to know them and their humans. Ahmed, with Noodle, the nervous little Labrodoodle, who prefers to go around to the park and those little paths, away from the sounds of traffic. Ami, with Peter (weird name for a dog, but whatever), the golden retriever too smart for his own good, who wants to explore every nook and cranny of the city, who Casey insists is switched to a harness over a collar so he can't escape while you're out walking. Luke, with Lofty, the great big Rottweiler who, thankfully, is very well trained, because she could easily get out of your grip if she really wanted to.

But the one you really bond with is Christina's dog, Rosie, the friendly rescue pitbull, who always has a little felt flower attached to her collar, a different color every day. You hear other dog owners whispering to Casey about her sometimes, about how Rosie shouldn't be here, around other dogs, even though she's one of the best socialized dogs you've ever had the pleasure of meeting. She's so sweet and gentle and friendly, and she's good with the puppies at playtime, and she's never so much as barked at a stranger on her walks.

Casey, to her credit, says they are welcome to take their dogs elsewhere, then.

Rosie is the highest point of your day. She comes in at 8:45, bright and early, because Christina works in an office nearby. When she rescued Rosie, Christina was in school and had more time to play, but being gone in long chunks left Rosie lonely, or so Christina says. You honestly don't care. You're just glad you get to walk Rosie every day.

You wrap her leash around your hand -- never, ever a choke chain; Casey doesn't allow them in the building and insists the owner buy a regular collar and leash -- and keep her heeled at your side. It would be better if you could let her roam ahead a foot or two, to sniff at things and meet people, but people freak out when they see this sweetheart of a pitbull, just because she's a pitbull. So instead to take her to the nearby dog park and walk her over to your little corner, where you wrestle and play fetch the ball and let her run around off the leash, as long as she stays in your area.